


days like these (nothing comes for free)

by wintercreek



Series: Triangulation [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Multi, Post-Canon, Telepathy, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-05
Updated: 2011-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:32:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercreek/pseuds/wintercreek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The morning after. <i>Spock awoke, two Human minds flickering at the edge of his awareness.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	days like these (nothing comes for free)

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to [_not in the stars but in ourselves_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4950) and building upon [_silence the world's heartache (for me)_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/44057).
> 
> Huge thanks to were_duck for betaing; for bearing with me and this fic for, geez, almost two years; and, of course, for being herself. ♥

Spock awoke, two Human minds flickering at the edge of his awareness. Both were quiet in sleep, neither Human apparently in a REM state, and radiated contentment. He could feel uncertainty in their minds as well, though, stemming from an inability to anticipate what this morning's perspective on last night would be.

 _Most remarkable,_ Spock thought. He would not have predicted that Nyota and Jim could band together in such a fashion. Spock considered them both important, but in quite divergent ways. Each received a different part of him and neither would have known of his _pon farr_ by Spock's own doing; it was entirely on their own reconnaissance, combining their observations and Jim's acquired memories, that they had drawn the correct conclusion. He had hardly been in a position to be other than appreciative, with his emotional mastery in abeyance and his body's desperate need clamoring for satisfaction. What remained to be seen was the degree to which Nyota and Jim intended to continue their collaborative efforts. And the degree to which he welcomed them.

Looking at the two Humans in question, Spock found himself in rather intimate physical contact with both of them. Nyota was curled on her side, her back pressed along his torso as was her wont. She occupied the space to his left and Jim the space to his right. Jim, too, lay on his side: he faced Spock, head tucked against Spock's shoulder and one hand splayed midway down Spock's abdomen, over his heart. That Jim knew, at least unconsciously, where the Vulcan heart was located was intriguing. Humans seemed normally to be thrown off balance by internal anatomy so different from their own. Perhaps he had merely sought Spock's heartbeat until he found it. Or perhaps not – Spock had been deeply asleep, but he surely would have wakened to a questing hand feeling its way along his rather sensitive midsection. Something to investigate later.

At any rate, the explanation for the mental quiet he currently enjoyed was simple enough. It appeared that Nyota's usual blocking qualities were in place, stopping most telepathic leakage from the crew, but that the physical contact with Jim enabled his touch telepathy to sense Jim's mind despite the block. Whether the unusually satisfying night's sleep he'd had was due to their presences or merely to the cessation of _pon farr_ was unknown. Spock found himself grateful, either way.

He turned his attention to the memories Jim possessed, which had likely been the key to their deductions. His other-self had given Spock to know that he'd shared with Jim the events that led to Nero's presence and destructive actions. It was a surprise to Spock that other memories had been shared with Jim as well, but he could not deny that some must have been. Jim had referenced them repeatedly last night and, Spock recalled now, some of those memories had surfaced while they were melded and ghosted through his mind as well. It was unfortunate that he had not been focused enough to retain them. Perhaps Jim would be willing to discuss their details when he awoke.

Spock's time sense indicated that it was not yet necessary for him to rise, so he instead dropped into a light meditation. Resting thus, he felt Nyota stir. She rolled sleepily over and propped herself up on her elbow, looking at him and across him to Jim. With his eyes closed, Spock could only sense her intent to reach out. He waited for her touch to whisper over his face, but it never came. Curious, Spock opened his eyes and saw Nyota's fingers on Jim's jawline. Her face was thoughtful.

Nyota refocused on Spock's face. "Hey, handsome. Sleep well?" Her voice was quiet, soothing.

"I did, yes. I ... thank you for last night. It was–" he searched for words, then returned to those he woke with. "Most remarkable."

"It was for me too." Nyota shifted her gaze to Jim again. "There's more to him than meets the eye, isn't there? A kind of steadiness in the midst of chaos."

Spock nodded. "I believe the Human expression is 'grace under pressure,'" he offered. "From Ernest Hemingway."

Nyota smiled at him, fond. "Yeah. I think I see what you see in him," she said, tilting her head at Jim. "Can we keep him?"

It was a joke, Spock knew, but it made him indefinably uncomfortable. "He is not a pet to be 'kept,' Nyota."

"That's what you think," she muttered.

It was well that Jim woke just then, before the conversation could further deteriorate. "Morning, guys. Spock, is everything okay after last night?"

"Yes, Jim. The fever has passed. I thank you for your assistance."

They looked at each other for a few moments, awkward. Jim started to say something, most likely one of those unpredictable pronouncements of his, but snapped his mouth shut again when the red alert klaxon blared through Spock's quarters. They should have been arriving for a routine orbit around a Federation colony world; the klaxon indicated not routine but disaster.

"Shit. Where are my pants?" Jim scrabbled through the discarded clothing on the floor and emerged with the various pieces of his uniform. He sniffed them and evidently found them at least minimally acceptable because he was shortly dressed and jogging out the door, boots in hand.

Nyota had already grabbed a spare uniform from her drawer. Once she'd pulled her pants on she paused, uniform tunic in hand, to toss Spock clean clothes as well.

They were clothed and presentable by the time Jim's voice came over the comm. "All hands, this is the captain. Battle stations."

The halls were crowded with crewmembers rushing to their assigned positions, their thoughts full of urgency. Spock grabbed Nyota's hand, thankful once again for whatever quality in her touch blocked the mental noise. He held it until they stepped out of the turbolift and on to the bridge. Nyota gave him a look, concerned, as they separated for their stations. He shook his head tersely. She did not need to worry for him. His telepathic shields were at full and his concentration would be sharpened by the circumstances.

Jim turned to look at them. "Mr. Spock, give me all you can on that ship."

"It is not a vessel found in our databases, Captain. Heavyweight craft, built for battle with a thick hull. Armed, probably heavily."

"And they're not responding to hails?"

"No, Captain." Nyota's crisp report came from the rear of the bridge. "No response on any frequency. I am picking up some communication between their ship and the surface near the colony, but it's pretty garbled."

"They _did_ fire at us, sir," Sulu spoke up, "when we first arrived in orbit. A warning shot, I guess, but their phaser beam passed awfully close to us."

"Sensors indicate that they are charging weapons, Captain." Spock looked up from his monitors. "I do not know how effective our shields will be."

"I've got it!" Nyota cried, just as the ship fired on the _Enterprise_. Sparks flared from a navigational console. "They're picking up something from the surface, in a shuttlecraft of some kind, I think. The ones on the planet are reporting that they're all loaded and returning to the ship."

"No wonder they're trying so hard to scare us off," Jim mused. "And I'm betting that whatever they've got is not something they're supposed to have. Mr. Sulu, evasive maneuvers. Spock, see if you can get a read on their shuttle and determine what's inside. Uhura: anything else you hear would be valuable."

Spock sharpened the _Enterprise_ 's sensor grid, picking through the atmosphere of the planet for a small craft. A preliminary scan gave him very little to go on, but now that he had the location he could selectively boost the signal. The sensors didn't indicate any particular concentration of metal or other mineral. Curious.

"Captain, I'm getting something. They say the–" Nyota paused, concentrating. She lifted her eyebrows in surprise. "The cargo is on board. They're speaking Klingon, and using the noun that means living-thing-as-property."

"Specimen smuggling? Livestock rustling?" Jim looked back at Spock.

"I am getting indications of heat, which rules out most plant life. Thermometric readings indicate lifeforms too small for the domesticated fauna of this world."

The mysterious ship fired energy weapons at the _Enterprise_ and the view screen seemed to pitch sharply as Sulu dodged the beam. "Their weapons operator doesn't seem to be a good shot, sir. I think I can get us closer, if that would help Mr. Spock's scans," Sulu offered.

Spock nodded in answer to Jim's questioning look. The shuttle was drawing closer to its parent ship; if they wished to determine more conclusively what it held, they would have to be in greater proximity.

"Take us in, Mr. Sulu." Jim tightened his jaw; Spock knew how he hated to risk damaging the _Enterprise_.

Nyota looked up from her concentration on the audio monitor as though she had read something alarming in its waves. Pressing one hand to her earpiece, she stared into the middle distance. Then she burst out, "Jim! They have _children_ on that shuttle!"

It was a measure of the shock the bridge crew felt at the latter half of her exclamation that no one, not even the captain, commented on her addressing him as "Jim." Chekov looked about to be sick. That a new colony's greatest "resource" was its children was commonly known; that anyone should try to steal that resource was repulsive.

The colony on Taurus Ceti IV was peopled primarily with Humans and had recently received a small group of Vulcan refugees, determined to avoid too great a concentration of their species' reduced population. It was not unheard of for space pirates to commit kidnappings in the isolated young colonies and it was certainly to the misfortune of these particular kidnappers that the Federation's flagship should happen to arrive while they were in the midst of the act.

"I can confirm that, Captain," Spock reported tonelessly. "The lifesigns I detected have resolved under better reception to those of twenty Vulcan children."

"Somebody get me a tractor beam on that shuttle!" Jim roared.

Chekov's fingers were already flying. "On it, sir!"

The tension on the bridge was inducing the beginnings of a headache in Spock. He could see Jim clutching the arms of the command chair, as though the strength of his fingers could add to the beams stretched out across the main viewscreen. The shuttle lurched in its flight and then began to move, slowly but inexorably, toward the _Enterprise._ When he turned his head, Spock saw Nyota holding her breath. She caught his eye and tilted her head toward her console, wordlessly asking for his opinion on what she was hearing.

He was preparing to move from his station to hers when the warship fired on its own shuttle. Spock pulled up sensor readings for the small craft. "Damage to the shuttle, Captain. The combination of phaser impact with the stress of the tractor beam is compromising the hull integrity."

"Can we get it on board before it breaks up?" Jim kept his eyes on the viewscreen.

"Perhaps." Spock squinted at his running calculations. "If the shuttle does not sustain another direct hit, we should be able to land it in our bay in time."

Jim eyed the warship speculatively. "Mr. Sulu, can you get us closer to them? Provide a distraction, maybe?"

"Aye, sir." Sulu fired thrusters, easing the _Enterprise_ toward their enemy. Chekov cursed under his breath and recalibrated the tractor beam.

Spock stepped forward, moving quietly to stand behind the command chair. "Captain, while this diversion may be effective in drawing fire from the shuttle it will also greatly increase the difficulty of safely landing the vessel in our bay."

Jim looked up at him. "I know, Spock, but if it keeps that craft in one piece longer than anything else would–"

His sentence was interrupted by a direct hit from the warship. Sparks flew from the consoles at the back of the bridge, including Spock's own station. Spock saw that Nyota's console was smoking, but she had moved away quickly and remained unhurt.

"Shields at 64%, Captain! They're firing again!"

Spock threw out a hand to steady himself as the ship rocked under the impact. Standing near the captain's chair as he was, his hand landed on Jim's shoulder. The noise of a ship full of minds under siege died away instantly. Spock snatched his hand up; the telepathic cacophony resumed. From the ensign at the rear of the bridge, who was focused most intently and loudly on refraining from vomiting, to the unmistakable twang of Dr. McCoy's internal monologue in the Infirmary, Spock could hear them all. He'd dropped his mental shields entirely, presumably when he'd first ceased to hear the crew. The assault now was near deafening, and so he hastened to drop his hand to the Captain's shoulder again.

 _A repeatable experiment is a successful one,_ he thought, _and replicable results are likely to be correct._ It had indeed happened a second time, just as before. Physical contact with Jim Kirk blotted out the clamor. Spock arched one eyebrow. _Fascinating._

Jim caught his expression. "Something to share with the class, Mr. Spock?"

"No, Captain." Spock did not lift his hand. Indeed, he tightened it on Jim's shoulder when another blast rocked the ship.

"I have the shuttle, Captain!" Chekov reported. "Shuttle bay three, sir."

To Spock's consternation, Jim sprang out of his chair and left the bridge at a run, calling back, "You have the conn, Spock!"

Spock slammed up his mental shields, closing out the noise that rose up again in Jim's absence, and looked around the bridge, noting the damage reports appearing on various consoles. "Status?"

"Shields at 42%. No hull breaches, but there we have damaged systems on decks two, six and nine. And our sensor relays are compromised," Nyota announced crisply. "Reports are coming in from department heads now."

"Mr. Sulu, please move us away with all due haste." Spock nodded at the helm officer.

The _Enterprise_ glided away from the warship, which merely hung in space. In the post-battle quiet, Nyota spoke again. "Commander, there's something I'd like you to see."

Spock stepped back to her station. "Yes?"

"Actually, it would be better if you listened to it first. Here." She handed him her earpiece.

The recorded dialogue between the shuttle and warship was staticky but not incomprehensible. Spock listened to the kidnappers' coordination efforts, wondering what about the Klingons' discussion Nyota found noteworthy enough to require him to listen to it. There was an odd edge to the pronunciation, though, as though Klingon was not the speakers' native tongue. "These are not Klingons," Spock pronounced, eyebrows on the rise again. "Lieutenant, how would you describe the accent these individuals possess?"

"Romulan, sir," Nyota replied instantly. "I would guess that they're trying to conceal their identity by speaking Klingon, but the unusual stress pattern they use sounds to me like they're Romulan."

"Indeed. Very perceptive work, Lieutenant Uhura." Spock inclined his head, then stepped back to the command chair. "Spock to Captain Kirk."

Jim's panting voice came on the intercom. "Little busy right now, Spock."

"Busy with what in particular, Captain?"

"Well–" Jim was interrupted by a harsh cough. "That shuttle's pretty compromised. Like, _flaming_ compromised." A crackling sound came over the comm.

"I assume that 'flaming' is not, in this case, one of your usual colorful colloquialisms." Spock could feel concern rising in the back of his mind; he named it and pushed it aside, centering himself.

Jim snorted. "No, Spock. Hey, gotta go." And with that he severed the communications link.

Spock actually stood up in response. "Spock to shuttle bay three."

No one answered. Nyota quickly offered, "I'll keep trying them, sir."

"Commander, the warship's leaving orbit. Should we pursue them?" Sulu spoke up.

Chekov cleared his throat. "I have their registry information. We can report them to Starfleet without further contact, sir."

"Go ahead, Mr. Chekov." Spock nodded to him. "The _Enterprise_ is compromised. It would not be prudent to pursue and invite a second confrontation in this state."

"Spock," Nyota broke in. "I can't get anyone in the shuttle bay to answer, but I have a security feed. It's– It's pretty bad."

Spock suspected that she didn't want to put the feed up on the main screen, so he stepped back to her station. The shuttle craft _was_ on fire, smoke billowing out from flames fed by the oxygen-rich air of the _Enterprise_. Engineering staff could be seen covering their faces with one arm and moving determinedly into the clouded air. They emerged with unconscious children in their arms. Two adult bodies, clearly not Klingon, lay collapsed just outside the shuttle's hatch.

A figure in command gold emerged in the arch of the hatch, coughing and clutching a child. It was doubtlessly Jim. He had only just passed the child into the waiting hands of a medic — when had medical arrived? How had Spock missed their appearance on the monitor? — when something within the shuttle succumbed to fire and exploded, sending him flying. The security feed cut out.

Spock shoved Nyota to the side, stabbing at the buttons required to open a channel to shuttle bay three. "Captain? Captain?!" Spock raised his voice as he called over the comm.

After several minutes of silence an engineering ensign answered. "He's being taken to the infirmary, sir. Dr. McCoy has him."

"Thank you, ensign." It was less than satisfactory that he was unable to recall the ensign's name, but Spock felt that on balance it was a minor element of the situation.

Nyota's gaze on his face was understanding. Spock was very close to giving in to the urge to embrace her. He restrained himself and instead said, "You have the conn, Lieutenant Uhura." And then he walked briskly off the bridge, dropping his head only after the turbolift doors had closed.

Spock did not burst into the Infirmary, but it was a near thing. He'd proceeded there with all the haste due a first officer who wished to ascertain his captain's status, and then some. It quickly became apparent that Jim Kirk's status was roughly normal for post-battle conditions: somewhat battered, and determined to whine about it.

"Bones, that _itches!_ How many thousands of years of medical technology at your disposal, and you can't do that without making it itch?" Jim had the beginnings of a bruise blooming on his cheek and the acrid smell of smoke surrounded him.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Jim, dermal regeneration at this pace is a new development. _And_ , I point out, it's fairly amazing that it works this well at all. By all rights I ought to make you spend a few weeks swathed in bandages, like they did in the old days." The device in McCoy's hand whirred as he made precise passes over the portions of Jim's abdomen that were angry red and blistered.

Spock felt an unusual sensation; it was not unlike the time his human cousins had taken him on a roller coaster. Spock had found the ordeal unpleasant and largely pointless, and the description of the sensations it induced – "causing the bottom of one's stomach to fall out" – to be anatomically inaccurate and impossible. He felt something like that now, though, a low shock of dread. He knew that his captain had a propensity for sustaining physical harm, but he seldom witnessed the aftermath of it first hand.

"Spock! How's the ship?" Jim threw a greeting in Spock's direction and turned back to McCoy. "Seriously, isn't that enough?" He turned back to Spock, probably intending to launch into a humorous attempt at complaint, but something he must have seen on Spock's face stopped him. "Hey, Bones, give us a minute."

"No, Jim, I don't think I will. If you don't want to be tender and peeling for the next week, you have to let me finish this. And _stop squirming!_ "

Jim looked Spock over; he seemed worried. "Spock, we'll talk after, okay?"

"Indeed, Captain. I will prepare a status report." Spock backed out of the Infirmary, grateful for the chance to compose himself. He'd lost his composure in a shocking manner. He strode purposefully through the halls to his quarters and ducked inside.

It did not matter that the noise and chaos of battle were fading from the crew's collective consciousness; it did not matter that the predominant thoughts rising to meet him were those of pleasure from the communications department, contacting planetary authorities to coordinate the return of all twenty of the children, who had suffered only minor physical effects from their ordeal. It did not matter because Spock required no outside influence to crowd his mind.

All he could see in his mind's eye was Jim Kirk, determined and unblinking, running toward and then into the burning shuttle. The smoke billowed out of it, and although Spock had not been there he could imagine the horrible, acrid scents of burning circuitry and upholstery. It did not matter that he had not been there, had not seen it – he knew nonetheless that this was how it had happened. Spock's eyes smarted, no doubt due to the fumes that had still clung to the captain and not to the clenching grip of an emotion he could not name and, not acknowledging it, could not control. He stood there, picturing Jim's plunge into danger over and over. Even the knowledge that Nyota was safely on the bridge, directing information to Starfleet and the colony's authorities, that she had been standing beside him and not in that hellish scene on the monitor, could not touch him.

Spock seated himself at his desk, forcibly cleared his mind, and made a futile attempt to compose a status report. It was no use – Jim would simply have to wait until tomorrow to receive a report he would not read in any event. _He is alive to receive it,_ Spock reminded himself. _He is alive, and Nyota is alive, and I am alive. These are the facts._ All the same, he buried his face in his hands and remained there, very still, until his door hissed open.

Nyota's hands on his shoulders could blot out the thoughts of the crew, but not his own thoughts. He allowed her presence to redirect his mind, permitting himself a small feeling of relief. Lifting his head, Spock stood and turned toward her. "Your shift does not end for another thirty minutes."

"Standing order twelve," she replied. Standing order twelve indicated that following the resolution, preferably successful, of a crisis situation any officer currently standing watch could present reasons for early dismissal without penalty. Jim thought it was the best way to keep them all from going crazy, given the frequency of crises. Spock thought it was a transparent attempt to provide Jim himself an early rotation off duty.

Spock lifted an eyebrow at Nyota. "Did I not leave you in command of the bridge?"

She shrugged. "Sulu's got it. You know he and Pavel love the happy ending bits anyway." Nyota's face softened then and, as she had done in what seemed irrationally like a million such moments, she lifted her hands and cradled his jaw, fingers rasping in the short hair on his neck. Spock did not need her to speak to know that she was offering whatever he needed most. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck, pulling in a deep breath to allow the scent of her hair to clear the memory of smoke from his senses. She was slight and supple, but strong in his arms. It was unbearably comforting to hold her.

They were still standing there when the door opened again and Jim walked in. Nyota stepped back from Spock and whirled to look at Jim, her face set like that of an avenging angel: terrible beauty, righteous anger. "James Tiberius Kirk!" she shouted, raising her hands.

Jim clearly expected that Nyota would strike him, but she did not. She cupped his face in her hands and examined him intently, finally pressing a hard kiss to his lips. Jim's eyes fluttered closed, then opened wide in surprise as Nyota drew back. She was evidently satisfied with her inspection, because her next act was to hug him. The face Jim made at Spock over her shoulder was comically exaggerated. Spock did not find it funny.

Suddenly weary, Spock turned away from the scene and sat heavily on his bed. His emotions still ran closer to the surface than he cared to admit, so soon after his _pon farr_. He closed his eyes tightly, reaching for control.

Someone sat next to him, pressed tightly to his side, thigh warm against his. "Spock." It was Jim's voice, soft and still rough with smoke. "I'm okay. I'm right here." Jim made no effort to take his hand or touch him further. He simply made himself a weight on Spock's bed. A physical presence Spock could not deny.

Nyota did take Spock's hand in one of hers, and Jim's in her other hand. She knelt before the both of them, and when Spock opened his eyes to look at her he saw her gaze flickering from his face to Jim's and back. "Do you want to know what happened?" she asked them.

"Yeah. Why not," Jim said. When Spock remained silent, Jim leaned a bit harder on his shoulder, jostling Spock affectionately. "Right, Spock?"

Spock nodded. "They were Romulan?" he asked Nyota.

"Yes, like we thought. The two we saw on the floor of the shuttle bay died – burns, smoke inhalation, and knife wounds. It looks like they saw that they couldn't get away and killed themselves or each other. Dr. McCoy will examine their bodies later." She looked down.

"And the children?" Spock squeezed her hand and noticed Jim doing the same with the hand he held.

Nyota looked back up and smiled. "All fine. Well, scared and maybe traumatized. But physically they're fine. Chris Chapel says the worst off of them just had first-degree burns, and a few had some trouble with smoke inhalation. Nothing sickbay couldn't handle. They were in the back compartment, away from the exploding instrument panels that killed the two Romulans who were piloting. There was a third Romulan, who was back with the children, though – he's in the brig now."

"What does he have to say for himself?" Jim's face hardened, but to Spock's relief he made no move to stand and go to the brig himself.

"I haven't been down to translate for Security yet, sir. Jim. This is going to be confusing, isn't it?" Nyota asked, probably rhetorically. "I'm the most fluent speaker of Romulan we have, as you know," she said, teasing.

"Hmm." Jim turned from Nyota to Spock. "I guess it'll keep. How're you doing, Spock?"

Spock opened his mouth, words crowding forward in his mind, only to sigh and press his lips closed again. How could he answer such a question? He could still see Jim running into the burning shuttle, and Nyota's very Human expression of relief at his safety, and where did those things leave him? Finally he managed to say, "Physically, I am well."

Jim snorted. "Yeah, right. 'Cause that's exactly what I was asking."

"Have I ever told you that I am able to hear Human minds without direct contact?" Spock asked.

"Uh, no," Jim said, looking sidelong at Spock.

Nyota looked to Spock; when he remained silent she turned to Jim. "He can usually filter them out, but there's something about Humans that lets our thoughts slip through his shields when they're particularly emphatic, or when his concentration is taken away from blocking telepathic noise. _Enterprise_ crew are strong-minded, which can make it harder not to hear them. So can crisis situations."

Jim frowned. "Spock, why didn't you say anything?"

"And what would I have said, Jim?" Spock raised his eyebrows. "I am hardly willing to leave Starfleet. My mental discipline is often sufficient to the task. And–" he paused.

"And I block them out," Nyota blurted. "We discovered it in San Francisco, when we were … colleagues."

"Friends," Spock corrected her. "Then subsequently 'more than friends,' as the expression goes."

She grinned. "Yes, okay. More than friends." Facing Jim again, she continued, "We started out holding hands, to give Spock a break from shielding. He can only hear me, when we're touching."

"It would appear," Spock broke in, "that you have a similar effect on me, Jim."

"That face you made on the bridge." Jim looked thoughtful. "Huh. Well, this is all very interesting, Spock, but I still want to know how you are."

Spock lowered his gaze. "I am–" He took a deep breath. "I am anxious, with regard to my continued relationships with both of you, and with regard to your physical well-being, Jim. Is that a satisfactory answer?"

Jim's face softened. "Spock. I can't promise I'll stop taking risks. I won't ask the crew to do anything I wouldn't do myself, and sometimes I'm going to be a dumbass and rush in without thinking. But I'm not suicidal, and I think you know that."

"And I," Nyota said, "am not going to leave you for Jim, okay?"

Surprised, Spock snapped his head up to face her.

"I saw how you looked, after I hugged Jim." She squeezed his hand.

"It would be only natural," Spock whispered. "Another Human–"

Nyota interrupted him. "Would be a fine addition to our partnership, but could never replace you," she said. "You think Jim and I would make any kind of stable relationship without you?" She half-smiled, eyes flicking over to Jim's face. Then she stood and pressed a kiss to Spock's forehead, sliding to his side to kiss along his temple to his ear. Jim leaned over from Spock's left, kissing his cheek, his forehead, his lips.

Nyota still held both their hands, and Jim took Spock's, completing the triangle they made. He and Nyota pressed Spock back on to the bed, Nyota biting gently at his earlobe and Jim tonguing into Spock's mouth. He could hear nothing but their thoughts, and their thoughts were only of him.

 _Love you,_ whispered into Spock's mind from Nyota, the tug of her teeth on his ear making him groan.

Jim shifted down from Spock's mouth to his neck, sucking a hickey to match the one Spock had given him, and from his mind came wordless images of triangles, of balance. Spock stifled a gasp at the sensations and projected a pulse of his arousal at them both.

Nyota sat up, smiling lasciviously, and Jim lifted his head to give Spock a wide-eyed look. "Whoa. I'd heard there were advantages to relationships with telepaths, but _wow_."

Spock quirked the corner of his mouth in a tiny smile. "Thank you," he said, sending humor and gravity in equal measures. Then he leaned up to Jim, pausing briefly at last night's hickey before capturing Jim's mouth in a deep kiss and thinking, _Alive, alive and so much more to me that I knew,_ overtones of oases in deserts and the preciousness of water coloring his words.

When they came up for air, Spock turned to Nyota, who was watching fondly, and pulled her down into a kiss as well. His mind was filled with bedrock, with Mount Selaya and constancy, and as he felt her lips curve against his he knew she had seen his thoughts and the meaning within them.

Spock lay back down, still holding tight to Nyota's and Jim's hands, and looked from one to the other. As he had hoped, they turned toward each other and fell into a kiss of their own, tongues twisting and teeth nipping at lips. From each of them came images of fire: sparks and lightening strikes and the snap of electricity. Suddenly he could see it, how they would flare up and consume each other without him – and how much more the three of them were together than any two.

They were all wearing far too many clothes, he decided. Spock shielded his mind and dropped their hands, making fast work of his shirt and boots before either of them noticed. Jim caught on first and pulled away from Nyota to shuck the scrubs he had worn from sickbay; he had evidently come directly to Spock's quarters, barefoot. They made eye contact and Spock held out two fingers. Jim met them with two of his own, thinking hard, _Couldn't wait. The look on your face–_ and Spock had not known he'd looked so stricken in sickbay.

He reached for Jim, a hand on the back of his neck drawing him in for a kiss, wanting to erase that image from Jim's mind. Spock's other hand slid down to Jim's ass, pulling their groins together and rubbing their erections against each other. He lost himself in the slide of tongues and lips, in the firmness of Jim's penis, in the joy of the transient moment.

When they parted for breath, Nyota pushed Spock gently down on to the bed, grinned at Jim, and lowered herself to straddle Spock's face. He permitted himself a small quirk of his mouth, pleased that she wanted this, before going to work on her clitoris. He knew she liked short, fast strokes, as close to vibration as he could come. He provided this with skill born of practice, though when she was near orgasm he paused for a brief rest.

"Tease," Nyota scolded Spock, fondly.

Spock drew breath to reply, but before he could speak Jim took Spock's erection in his mouth and verbal communication became temporarily impossible. He had not properly appreciated this experience the previous evening; now it was eminently clear that Jim had much to offer in this aspect of a relationship as well as others.

Jim flicked his tongue under the crown of Spock's penis before sliding his lips down the shaft again, hot mouth engulfing Spock. When Spock came, Jim swallowed unhesitatingly and kept his tongue moving until the aftershocks became too strong and Spock had to push his head away. Then Jim sat up, smiling like the proverbial Terran cat with the canary. Spock blinked up at him.

Nyota, who Spock now saw looking on with a bemused expression, raised her eyebrows at Jim. He laid back on the bed next to Spock, hands behind his head and one foot touching Spock's calf, and gave Nyota look that evidently meant, "Well, come over here then." She did, sliding his erection into her and sighing with pleasure. She leaned forward, changing the angle as Jim began to thrust, and Spock could overhear Jim's pleasure with her choice. Then Nyota slid one hand over to touch fingers with Spock and he could sense both of them, their pleasure sparking lightly along his nerves. He rolled over to reach Nyota's clit with his free hand, stroking it in time with Jim's rhythm, feeling the sensations himself as the two of them came, incredibly, to simultaneous orgasm.

Spock quirked an eyebrow at them and said, "Fascinating."

Both Jim and Nyota burst into laughter, talking over each other. "Not so incredible, actually. You were projecting," Nyota told him, grinning, as Jim said, "Sex with telepathy. Best. Thing. EVER."

They fell into a loose pile with their limbs overlapping. Spock took a hedonistic moment to savor the scents of his partners and the sensation of balance, storing it up against the likelihood of future uncertainty. He considered briefly the merits of an immediate shower but decided against it and instead allowed his mind to settle towards sleep. Jim was already drowsing, and Nyota's eyes were closed as well, all three of them tired after the stress of the morning and the release of their activities.

Spock drifted off as he had awoken, in mental silence save for the murmurs of two Human minds: loving and beloved, content.


End file.
